


Concrete and Ash

by Notrus



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: And advice, Gen, Having a Building Dropped on You Sucks, PTSD character not in denial, Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 23:57:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11679768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Notrus/pseuds/Notrus
Summary: Peter finds that being a hero comes with some pretty big pitfalls. Not that he can't handle it. He's just a having a little trouble.----------The Bunsen Burner next to him is smoking from the spilled chemicals as his lab mate rushes to turn it off and clean up the mess without owing the school a new one. Peter knows he should be helping. He would be, but all he can smell is burning sand, metal, jet fuel, and glass. There’s not a thin trail of smoke being desperately wafted away from the smoke alarm but a smog shimmering with heat that he has to move through because he still hasn’t caught Toomes and everything hurts because he’s been crushed and punched and crashed on the outside of a plane and-And he’s in school.





	Concrete and Ash

Peter places his original web shooters onto the worn and pot marked table of shop class; determined to work out some of Mr. Stark’s features and replicate them for emergency situations. Just in case.

After receiving the suit from Mr. Stark, Peter had never thought about just how much easier it made everything. The web shooters were more streamlined, the lenses more responsive, the fabric a perfect balance between permitting him to stick to walls and protecting him from the elements – not to mention bullet resistance. Not that Peter had ever stopped being in awe of the suit, especially after removing the Training Wheels Protocol, but, he’d taken it for granted.

Once Mr. Stark had stripped him of the suit, Peter didn’t know where to begin.

_If you’re nothing without the suit, then you shouldn’t have it._

Peter resisted the urge to snort. Well, he was going to fix that, right now. He’d invented the web shooter and the fluid and the original lenses. He could improve them too. He pries open the back and examines the best way to add in a tazer function. He’s have to wire the electric current to the web fluid while insulating it from himself and he’d have to experiment with batteries and how to activate the tazer function without Karen, so something manual…

The guy across from him has been filing down some edges on his project leaving a pile of metal dust pooling in front of him. He blows on the edges and a silver cloud puffs into Peter’s face and all he can smell is rusted metal and concrete. The sharp sting of steel turns to the iron tang of blood and Peter freezes to keep himself grounded in the moment.

Who said that scent had a strong correlation to memory? Peter can’t remember right now but he hates that guy. He knows he’s standing upright, he can feel the ground under his feet, buffered by worn in sneakers. He feels the air rushing by his arms and knows he can move them if he wants. He knows he knows he knows.

But all he can smell is concrete and ash, lined with the iron tang of blood. There’s so much weight crushing him down and he wants to scream for help or is screaming and he doesn’t know anymore – he just knows that he’s never been so aware of every rib pushing against his lungs and he feels rebar scraping against the outside of his left leg, skin shorn off and it was so close, just a little closer and he would have been impaled and his mask is suffocating him and no one is coming- no one knows he’s trapped-

And Peter is Spider-Man and in school right now. He focuses on the air brushing past his shoulders, free flowing and light - lacking the heavy miasma of collapse – and slowly rolls his shoulders. He sees light in front of his eyes instead of stone and water and a half floating mask pitifully lit by haunting moonlight. He takes a deep breath and can’t stop a shudder as he forces it out. Ned gently nudges his right shoulder and Peter holds every muscle rigid in order to not flinch. Or jump onto the ceiling. Peter isn’t sure what he’ll do if he doesn’t stay in control.

“You ok?”

Peter shrugs and tries to play it off. “Yeah, I’m good. Just- just had a thought.” A meaningful silence prompts Peter to look at his best friend. His eyes are glued to something in Peter’s hand so he glances down only to find that he’s crushed the handle of his pliers. He releases it, one finger at a time, and finds himself mesmerized by the ridges left from his fingers. “Oh.”

“…you know you can talk to me, right? If something’s wrong.” Ned gives him a concerned look and Peter scrounges up the best smile he can, assuring his friend that he’s fine. His smile feels more like a grimace and Ned frowns in return.

The next time it happens he’s putting away soccer balls after gym. The store room is stale and is his rush to leave quickly, Peter trips on the corner of an unused punching bag and kicks up a cloud of dust. It’s too thick and he can’t breathe and he starts pulling for a mask that’s not there so the air will come quicker instead of caked through cotton and crumbled stone.

There’s no mask and no weight and Peter stills to an unnatural level, hand trapped in his hair, hunched under a pillar that’s not there. He forces out a shaky breath and feels a rush of shame. He’s Spider-Man. He’s got this. He bench pressed a roof and then took to the skies to stop Mr. Toomes and he got hit- he got hit so badly he sometimes saw stars when he simply blinked-

But Peter knows it isn’t real. He’s in school, in the gym storage room, and he has to go change out for History.

_If you’re nothing without the suit, then you shouldn’t have it._

The Bunsen Burner next to him is smoking from the spilled chemicals as his lab mate rushes to turn it off and clean up the mess without owing the school a new one. Peter knows he should be helping. He would be, but all he can smell is burning sand, metal, jet fuel, and glass. There’s not a thin trail of smoke being desperately wafted away from the smoke alarm but a smog shimmering with heat that he has to move through because he still hasn’t caught Toomes and everything hurts because he’s been crushed and punched and crashed on the outside of a plane and-

And he’s in school. He notices Flash giving him an odd look for his unnatural stillness and vaguely wonders what expression he’s been wearing. The fire alarm goes off and Peter moves just a little too quickly to pack his belongings and go, his classmates too distracted with their own belongings to pay attention.

When he’s being Spider-Man, it’s easier. He blinks during a fight and remembers flashing stars as a metal enhanced fist bashes his head against the sand and then opens his eyes to finish flipping over a bullet. He’s a hero. This is what he does. Each battle is its own moment and he doesn’t get trapped in the bad spots that came before. That’s Peter Parker’s job. No, not Peter’s job – his weakness.

Or perhaps a ringing alarm for how hard this job is on him mentally.

Peter watches a helicopter in the distance from the window of his English classroom and feels pride. He sees pictures of the damaged Washington Monument and is sucked in by the fear of how high he is and so little grip and fruitlessly trying to break into that window. He spares a moment of gratefulness for the footpads holding and not being punched full of glass shards.

 He sees a plane and his mind goes blank. It’s just a plane and he continues walking home.

It worries him how a strong breeze when he’s clinging to the side of a building makes him grip tighter and slip along the bottom of an invisible jet yet the idea of being up there and forcefully turning a plane, directing it away from the heart of New York fills him with so much pride he almost wants to do it again.

“Hey Happy. Just leaving my weekly report. I stopped two grand theft autos, another grand theft bicycle, and tracked down another of those alien weapons. My grades are back up and my decathlon team has been pretty cool. Just wanted to let you know that everything is good and that if the Avengers ever need me, I’m there. Just, give me a call. The offer’s still on the table for when I finish high school, right? Not that that’s important right now… Well, I’ll just, check in again next week.” He pauses before deciding to deviate from his normal report. It’s been happening more and more lately, little flashes of his worst moments, and he doesn’t understand why the further he gets from these moments, the more they try to attack him. “Uh, Happy? Could you ask Mr. Stark- uh, Tony, to call me about something? Just, some super hero issues I could use some advice with. Not that anything’s wrong! I just… wanted to ask a question. Well, that’s all and I’ll uh, call you next week.”

Peter hangs up and drops his head in shame, slumped four stories up on a fire escape. He knows what’s happening. Panic attacks, flashbacks… Flailing around on the outside of a flaming jet crashing into the beach… He’s not afraid to admit he was scared. But he made it through. He was the hero and saved the day. So why does it keep coming back? Time heals all wounds, right? So these flashes should be going away. It’s been six weeks already. He’s had other close calls and a couple bad injuries but these are the ones that keep coming back and he just needs some advice. It’s not like he’s falling apart.

_If you’re nothing without the suit, then you shouldn’t have it._

Right. Peter is still Spider-Man without the suit and Spider-Man can push through anything – just like a collapsed building – and keep going; keep doing the right thing. Iron Man wants Peter to be better than him. He’s not really sure how. Besides, he doesn’t expect Mr. Stark to actually call. He’d like that, but he doesn’t expect it. He’s gotten used to not being answered. He knows they listen, but he’s supposed to be able to handle himself so that’s what he’ll do.

It’s the next week when Spider-Man swings by a construction site and the cloud of smashed up concrete from a jackhammer makes him freeze mid-swing. He grabs a hold of himself and forces himself to smoothly stick to the next brick wall before cradling his head between his knees. No one can see him here. No one knows and he lets it take over. The air is thick and clouded and his right arm is pinned. His left arm flails for some kind of purchase, some tool or ladder or person that will help him crawl out of this place and stop his right hip from going numb as his fingers and toes keep twitching from shock.

Peter forces himself to breathe and listens. He focuses on the traffic rushing by and yelling of a nearby cabbie. Home sweet home. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, and centers himself in the moment. He’s got this. He’s got himself under control.

The final straw comes when he does a cannon ball. One moment he’s hanging out with the decathlon team being cheered on and the next he’s suffocating under the water, trapped by a parachute that had barely saved his life and struggling to find the surface for all he can blindly flail. He breaks the surface taking unjustified, heaving breaths; desperately clinging to the edge of the pool and pushing down a violent shiver. He feels the heavy silence and uncomfortable stares reminding him that he’s not alone. He ducks his head to hide his shame and makes an excuse about water rushing up his nose when he landed. Ned starts to ask if this is about the other thing but Peter doesn’t let him finish before stating that he’s fine and just needs to get a drink of water to calm his burning throat.

He leaves the pool and hugs himself closely in the corner of a passable bathroom stall. He takes deep, shuddering breaths that rack through his whole body and tries to shop his shivering teeth. It’s not cold like when the Vulture had dropped him but Peter desperately wishes for the warming function of his suit and Iron Man’s robot stand in to be scolding him right now. He takes a couple minutes because he has time. No one can see him and no one needs him to fight right now and he can take a couple minutes to get back to his friends.

When he returns to the pool, he puts on a brave smile and mostly sits on the edge with his legs dangling in the water. They splash him a few times but no one asks him to get back in and especially not to do a cannon ball. By the end, he’s having a blast telling jokes with Ned and ignoring Flash’s derision of their Star Wars obsession.

That night, he stares at his phone debating whether or not to call Happy again. He’d made his weekly report yesterday and nothing major had happened. He didn’t want to seem weak or whiny or like he couldn’t handle being a hero, but he just wasn’t sure he could handle this. When he was Spider-Man, he could handle anything. So many times he’d been injured or exhausted and still kept fighting and saving lives and just doing the right thing. But not as Peter Parker.

Peter Parker stares into the ceiling at night wondering if this is the last time he’ll see it and how lucky he is that he’s seeing it now. Peter Parker wonders whether he would have died of dehydration crushed under that debris or if he’d have been crushed as the building continued to settle. Peter Parker wonders if he had fallen off that jet, what kind of splat he would have made against the ground and where he would have landed. Peter Parker wonders if he’d sunk to the bottom of those cold, dark depths, if anyone would have dredged up his body and what people would think of him then. He wonders if he had been smarter or faster or better at thinking on his toes if he wouldn’t have to stop himself from flinching every time May gave him a hug because he doesn’t have enough space to breathe. Peter Parker wonders and then tells himself that ‘what ifs’ aren’t reality and that they aren’t important.

Peter Parker also flinches and freezes and has the strangest instinct to curl up in the corner of the ceiling.

No, Peter doesn’t want to look weak to Mr. Stark, but this can’t go on and all he needs is some advice.

“Hey Happy. It’s me, Peter. Parker. I just, could really use some advice from Mr. Stark. I know he’s busy and it’s not urgent I could just… really use some advice. If you could pass along that message it would be great. Thank you and I’ll call you next week.”

“Hey Happy. I know check in isn’t till Friday and it’s only Wednesday but I just –“ had a little incident “could really use that advice and was hoping Mr. Stark could get back to me soon if possible. If not, that’s cool. I was just hoping to talk to him. Thank you for listening and it would mean a lot to me if you could pass on my message to Mr. Stark- uh, Tony. Thank you. Bye.”

“Hey Happy. Just calling with my weekly report. Stopped a robbery the other day and found another piece of Mr. Toomes alien tech. This gun really packed a punch and it burned the suit. I don’t really know how I should fix that or if Mr. St- Tony would even want me messing with the suit so it would be great if you could get back to me on this. And, uh, about that advice I need from Mr. Stark, I was wondering if you could pass that along at the same time? Not that it’s a big deal, I’d just, like that advice soon. If it’s possible. Ok, bye. I’ll talk to you next week.”

“Hey Happy.” Peter knows he sounds drawn. He can barely summon a congenial tone of voice after being trapped in that nightmare of slowly being crushed under tons of concrete. He’d become lucid and knew he’d made it out but he just wouldn’t wake up and started questioning if he’d ever gotten out at all. “It’s me, Peter. Parker. I know it’s the middle of the week but I was just wondering if I could get that advice from Mr. Stark please. It’s not anything I can’t handle, I could just use a bit of help – uh, helpful advice. Nothing bad, I just, uh, please. If you’d pass that along. Thanks.”

Peter hangs up the phone dejectedly and gets ready for school even though it’s 5:34. He revises his homework and gets ahead on his reading – Mr. Stark and Aunt May would both be so proud right now.

It isn’t until lunch that Peter has a revelation. How could he have been so stupid? Of course Iron Man wouldn’t want to talk him through his stupid nightmares! He’d been blown up, shot at, flew a missile into _outer space_. Hell, he’d probably broken through a few ceilings himself. After just six weeks of deciding to stay on his own, he’d already started whining to Mr. Stark about a few bad dreams. How could he be such an idiot? All the Avengers had stories like this and you didn’t see them freezing in the middle of a fight or hear about what terrible nightmares they all suffered through. No, they were heroes, and that meant that they could push through anything. If Mr. Stark thought he was good enough for the Avengers, then he had to be better than this.

_If you’re nothing without the suit, then you shouldn’t have it._

That was right. Peter was made of sterner stuff than this and he was going to prove it. On Friday, when he made his normal report, he’d tell Happy never mind about the advice and deal with it.

That evening, just after sundown, Spider-Man chases a perp into an underground parking garage. He uses his web grenade to stick the robber to a support pillar and makes a wisecrack about putting him in time out until the cops arrive. The perp is shouting something back, but Peter isn’t listening. He’s looking at the support column and counting all the others in the garage. He sees them being smashed by a pair of glowing metal wings and doesn’t see the trap until it’s too late. Gasoline tastes like shattered stone on the air and Peter forces himself not to look at the ceiling just to make sure it’s not falling in on him. Not like it would matter; it had fallen so fast-

Spider-Man pushes through it. He’s fine and the perp is still yelling so he webs up his mouth and leaves to call 911. Thank you Mr. Stark and your untraceable cell phones. He knows there’s a tracking chip, he’d even used it himself to chase down Mr. Toomes, but instead of being annoyed, he’s grateful. If something like the building sabotage ever happened again, someone could find him. He could be reasonably sure that he wouldn’t die. Alone, uselessly calling for help, overestimating himself…

No. He is Peter Parker and Spider-Man and Mr.Stark, No, _Iron Man_ thought he was ready to be an Avenger and if he wants Peter to be _better_ than he is, then Peter needs to be better than this. He wants to be a hero, the best hero he can be, and heroes don’t stand down because they get hurt or scared. They keep fighting. So Peter will be fine because Spider-Man is a real hero too.

Peter is leaving school on Thursday, ready to go on patrol, when he spots Happy in front of an obscenely expensive sports car waiting for him at the curb. “Hey Happy. What are you doing here? Is it about the suit? ‘Cause everything is still working fine; just a little burned.”

“It’s a little bit about the suit. And the advice you keep asking for.” He pauses for a moment, searching Peter’s face. “You’re ok, right? Because you can tell me if you aren’t.”

No, Peter can’t tell him that he isn’t alright. They’d tell him to stop being Spider-Man and that’s not an option. Being Spider-Man is the only thing keeping him together so he does his best to smile. “I’m totally ok. I even changed my mind about the advice. Figured it out myself.” He uses all his determination to be better than his nightmares to try and convince Happy but Liz was right, he’s a bit of an open book and Happy’s lack of belief in etched into every line of his frown.

He opens the door and Peter gets in. He doesn’t expect to find himself next to Mr. Stark. “So, do you want to start with the suit or the advice? And I’m not promising I have good advice but I can at least try; unlike my old man. Or refer you to someone else. You know, the whole team was disappointed that you didn’t join so I’m sure any one of them would be happy to answer your questions.”

Peter is overwhelmed. The Avengers would like to talk to him? Were disappointed that he hadn’t joined? Tony Stark showed up in person to give him advice? And all he’d expected was for Happy to take the suit for repairs and drive him home.

“Kid?”

Peter mentally slaps himself – he’d just spazzed out in front of Mr. Stark! – and focuses on the conversation. “Oh! Right, um, the suit.” He digs through his backpack and pulls it out, readjusting it a few times before offering the singed portion to its creator. Mr. Stark takes it, examines it for a bit, and then stares at Peter’s thigh. “Is your leg ok? Because this isn’t singed, it’s scorched. And if a bulletproof suit is this badly damaged then the very non-bulletproof _you_ didn’t get out of this unscathed.”

Mr. Stark is frowning at him and Happy is glancing into the review mirror in interest or possibly concern. “It’s fine! Really! See?” Peter pokes his leg and feels nothing wrong. “It healed up a few days ago with no permanent damage.”

“And you took some time off patrol to let it heal, right?” Mr. Stark sternly scolds him over his sunglasses.

“It’s fine, really. The suit took most of the damage for me.” And it’s true. Mostly. So what if his entire thigh had been black and blue and yellow for a few days? Nothing broke.

Their stare off lasts a bit longer and Peter is starting to fidget, not sure what Mr. Stark is looking for. Finally, the billionaire pushes his sunglasses back up and looks out the front window. Peter takes a short breath in relief. He’d just passed some kind of test, right? He’d passed?

“So, what’s this advice you need?” Peter’s heart sank. Could they go back to the test?

“I, uh, actually changed my mind. I was going to tell Happy when I reported in tomorrow, but it’s cool. I figured it out.” He’s looking everywhere but at Mr. Stark, whose stare he can feel blazing on the side of his face.

The silence stretches before, “Happy, give us some privacy.”

The privacy screen stretches up far too slowly and Peter twists his fingers into his jeans. He doesn’t want to talk about this. He wants to be strong and prove to Mr. Stark that he can handle being a hero. He’s not here to whine about it.

But he remembers how dust makes him want to gasp instead of sneeze and how he does neither because he forces himself into an unnatural stillness. He remembers how jumping into the pool caused him to panic and the stars that flash several times a day.

Mr. Stark breaks the silence and continues to ramp up the tension. “Look, Peter, I’m not good with this ‘feelings’ stuff, but no one leaves a message at 5:30 in the morning because they’re fine. Five times in two weeks you’ve asked for some advice and you’ve gotten a lot better about not flooding Happy’s inbox. So what’s wrong?”

Peter stares at the floor and is flooded with shame. He’s messed up so bad. Mr. Stark is going to take away the suit and it will be so much more dangerous to be Spider-Man and why, _why_ hadn’t he just kept his mouth shut?!?

The silence stretches on uncomfortably before Mr. Stark bulldozers his way through it. “Let me tell you what I think. I think you’re having nightmares about being on the outside of a jet with no parachute and then crashing onto a beach.” Peter hunches his shoulders and drops his head lower, hiding his shame. But that’s not the biggest problem. That’s not the part that stops him in the middle of the day and makes him want to run and scream and cry. It’s a very small part yet Tony carries on. “And I just want you to know, that’s ok.”

Peter snaps up to look at Mr. Stark. It’s ok?

Mr. Stark shifts uncomfortably under Peter’s intense stare and draws himself up a bit straighter. “You know how during the battle of New York I directed a Nuke into outer space? Well, I’m not sure how much the general public knows, but I was actually in outer space and… my heart stopped for a bit. I crashed back down to earth – Hulk saved me from a nasty landing – and wasn’t breathing for a bit. The important part is that I was messed up for a while after that. I kept drinking and having flashbacks and being an overall mess. What I learned at the end of it all was cutting yourself off isn’t the way to go.”

Mr. Stark pauses and the words are out of Peter’s mouth so fast that he can only regret them. “Does it get better?” He knows he’s giving Mr. Stark his Kicked Puppy Dog Look and doesn’t even try to make himself look more grown up.

His role model looks at him, looks forward, fidgets, gives a small sigh, and then looks back. “It does and it doesn’t.” Peter frowns. That’s a non-answer. “Experiences like that stick with you for the rest of your life and they won’t ever go away but, you can find ways to deal with them. Especially non-destructive ways. Don’t follow my example. Don’t be an alcoholic. Or a dick to everyone around you. Just…” He gestures vaguely with his hand in a circle, fingers gently splayed out in Peter’s direction. “be you. And find a good way to deal with it.”

It feels like Liz has just let go of his hand, safely standing on the observation deck and he knows he’s won and doesn’t have to hold up the weight of that elevator anymore. He’s not the only one. It’s not strange or bad that he’s haunted by being crushed under a building. Iron Man has bad memories too and hard days. The other Avenger’s too and Mr. Stark is being very clear what ‘better’ means in this case. Don’t pick up destructive habits or be a jerk. He can do that. But… what should he do instead?

“Tell me about it.” Peter snaps out of his musings, tilting his head in question. “I know it’s a cliché, but the best place to start really is talking about it. I might not know what it’s like to cling to a crashing plane but I have a lot of experience. So shoot.”

He can’t believe this is happening. Tony Stark is offering counseling or therapy or… or… just listening to his problems. But he has to correct him first. It’s not the plane that bothers him. “He dropped a building on me.” The statement lands like a meteor between them, crashing the atmosphere into a plateau of shock from the slight unease and understanding of before.

Peter carries on, staring at nothing and playing with his fingers. “It was when I first caught up to him at the warehouse. He had his giant wings try to attack me but I was wrong, it was just a distraction as he knocked out the support columns. When it started coming down I barely had time to take a single step forward and it just-“ His breath catches but he pushes on. “It was so heavy. The cement was grating through my clothes and everything but my left arm was pinned and a water pipe or something broke because there was a puddle of water in front of me and my mask was so caked with dirt and dust that I couldn’t _breathe_ \- And I cried out for someone to save me; to dig me out and no one was there and my phone was in his car and who knows where that was anymore and my suit didn’t have a tracking device and I was going to die because no one knew where I was and I was going to die there- “

Peter cuts himself off with a choked sob. He’d just babbled like a child to Iron Man. Forcing himself to take several deep breaths, Peter resumed his story with more facts and less panic.

“And I remembered what you said, about me not deserving the suit if I was nothing without it. And I knew I wasn’t. I’m Spider-Man and can bench press a bus. I could handle standing up through several tons of concrete because I had to stop Mr. Toomes before he could hurt more people. So I got my arms under me and pushed, for all I was worth, and I went after him.” There’s no pride in his voice, just simple, drained fact at that point. He’d felt so tired once he’d stood up and he felt tired right now.

He continues in a small voice. “When I left that message on Wednesday, I had had a nightmare. I was stuck, back under that collapsed building with rebar scraping through the skin on my left calf and my right side pinned so tight, I didn’t know how I was going to move enough to get any leverage and my screams for help going unanswered. I became lucid at some point and kept trying to wake up. This wasn’t real because I had gotten out of there and stopped Mr. Toomes and everything was fine. But I couldn’t wake up and I started to wonder if I had ever gotten out in the first place or if everything that had happened was just a fever dream or a delusion so I didn’t have to acknowledge that I was still trapped under a pile of rubble; with no one coming to help me.”

Silence stretches between them for a silent minute, each taking in their thoughts. Peter can’t believe he just admitted all that to Mr. Stark but somehow, it feels better. He feels a little more grounded sharing his nightmare and knowing he’s in reality. He feels a little more weight shed from his shoulders now that someone else knows that a building had been dropped on him.

But that’s not what all of this was about. “The nightmare bothered me, but it’s the flashes during the day that really get to me. I tried a cannon ball at the pool once and started panicking under the water because I was tangled in a parachute. A strong breeze on a building feels like I’m sliding off the jet. I blink, and I see stars from when Mr. Toomes punched me with his metal fist and then my head bounced off the sand.” His voice gets smaller and smaller until he can barely hear his own final admission. “ _I try so hard to remember that not all dust smells like concrete and ash_.”

He’s shrunk in on himself feeling small and weak, admitting that all these little things send him into a spiraling panic. He’s startled when Mr. Stark puts a clumsy hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

Peter jerks his head around and catches a look of discomfort and self reproach that tells him Mr. Stark never intended to say that at all. “Sorry?” he asks.

Mr. Stark clears his throat. “Yes, well, I’m responsible for you, kid. I took away the suit and a major part of your protection and you still went out there and did the right thing.”

He’s looking anywhere but at Peter but the hand on his shoulder is steady and warm. “So you’re not going to take the suit?” Worry seeps into every syllable and Peter can’t help it, being Spider-Man is who he is. The bulletproof suit makes him feel safer.

“No, kid. I’m not taking the suit. You’ve already proven you’re Spider-Man either way and I prefer to keep you a little safer.” His fingers twitch minutely. “Besides, some days it feels like being in the suit is the only thing that keeps me from flailing all over the place.” Peter knows that feeling down to his very core. How every now and then he doesn’t know who he is or how to live and being in the suit isn’t just giving him a purpose, it’s holding him together at the seams.

Mr. Stark gives his shoulder one last squeeze before taking his hand away. “Yeah, well, my advice is to find someone you can confide in. Not me. Feelings give me horrible acid reflux. I’m pushing it just talking to you right now. As far as sensory triggers go, I’d say to just focus on the moment. If you’re having fun with your friends, focus on that. Or something. I could hook you up with a therapist. Very private. Just, someone who’s not me.”

Peter can’t help the smile stretching across his face. Mr. Stark may be saying not to come to him with problems but he had come through. Even though he was uncomfortable, he’d come all the way to see him and talk about an unspecified issue because he was concerned. There was no doubt that he wanted Peter to turn to someone else since this was _not_ his forte but, he was clearly available if Peter needed him. “Thank you Mr. Stark.”

“Don’t mention it. No, really, don’t mention it. Not that anyone would believe you, but you’d tarnish my reputation. Talking about feelings.” He gave a fake shudder. “What if people start coming to me asking for a heart to heart? I’d blame that entirely on you.”

Peter continued to smile and simply nodded along. Actually, now that he wasn’t distracted by the heavy conversation, Peter wondered why they were still driving. His apartment wasn’t that far from school and they should have been there by now. “Um, Mr. Stark? Where are we going?”

“Didn’t I tell you to call me Tony? I’m sure I did. In any case, we’re going up state. I’m going to teach you how to do maintenance on your suit. You’re a smart kid, I figure it’s about time you knew.” Eyes lighting up with delight, Peter couldn’t wait to hang out in Avenger’s Headquarters, working on his suit with Tony Stark. A very good reason for this couldn’t happen popped into his mind. He’d barely opened his mouth to ask when Mr. Stark cut him off.  “Don’t worry about your hot aunt, I told her I was borrowing you for the entire weekend and she agreed. I’ll have you back by 6pm on Sunday and all your homework will be done. And don’t worry about school tomorrow either. I had Happy pick up your homework. Which you _will_ be doing.”

Peter’s mouth clicked shut. He didn’t have an argument for any of that. “Ok.”

He was going to spend his weekend with the Avengers.

When did life get completely awesome?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. This got so much longer than I thought it would. I was just so full of feels during that scene and I had to put them out somewhere.
> 
> I get a bit tired of all these fics where panic attacks mean freaking out and the protagonist feels deeply ashamed and has to hide it. Peter strikes me as having enough common sense to ask for advice. Down playing how bad it is, since he doesn't want to look weak, but, knowing that a google search won't really cut it.
> 
> On the side of reactions to panic attacks, it's very sensationalist to always depict them as being very overt. Everyone has a Flight, Fight, or Freeze response and not every panic attack makes people forget where they are and what they're doing.
> 
> Triggers can also differ. For instance, Peter sees a plane and his mind goes blank. He shrugs it off and moves on. However, a gust on the side of a building makes him feel like he's slipping even though he's not. Helicopters make him feel proud of his accomplishments while even a picture of the Washington Monument makes him panic. There are different reactions to different stimuli.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and I hope you all enjoyed! XD

**Author's Note:**

> Wow. This got so much longer than I thought it would. I was just so full of feels during that scene and I had to put them out somewhere.
> 
> I get a bit tired of all these fics where panic attacks mean freaking out and the protagonist feels deeply ashamed and has to hide it. Peter strikes me as having enough common sense to ask for advice. Down playing how bad it is, since he doesn't want to look weak, but, knowing that a google search won't really cut it.
> 
> On the side of reactions to panic attacks, it's very sensationalist to always depict them as being very overt. Everyone has a Flight, Fight, or Freeze response and not every panic attack makes people forget where they are and what they're doing.
> 
> Triggers can also differ. For instance, Peter sees a plane and his mind goes blank. He shrugs it off and moves on. However, a gust on the side of a building makes him feel like he's slipping even though he's not. Helicopters make him feel proud of his accomplishments while even a picture of the Washington Monument makes him panic. There are different reactions to different stimuli.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and I hope you all enjoyed! XD  
> \-------------  
> Emergency!  
> This story has a sequel (The Size of Australia) but I don't know how to link the two. I think they both work best as one shots so I didn't make it a second chapter. Please! Someone tell me what to do!!!! T^T


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